Songwriter
by monsterball
Summary: Tifa closes her eyes and listens to the sounds that she loves. Three-part character study on Tifa over her years. Cloud/Tifa. Warning: destruction of a pair of pants up ahead.
1. Crescendo

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Final Fantasy VII.

Character-study on Tifa with blips of Cloud/Tifa (I can't _not_ include Cloud; their promise is the foundation of their relationship, and a really integral part of her life, duh). Hope you enjoy it!

**crescendo**

* * *

Tifa is six and decides that more than anything in the world, she doesn't want to be a princess.

She burrows herself in her covers and listens to the deep baritone of her father's voice as he reads her a story about a princess locked in a tower waiting for a hero to swoop in and save her and the kingdom from an evil Dragon. She wrinkles her nose and tells her father that she thinks the princess is silly and should be strong enough to take care of herself. Mama does that just fine, _and_ takes care of the family, so why can't this princess do the same thing? Why is the princess so helpless?

Her father laughs and ruffles her head fondly and says, "Maybe one day you can be that princess, Tifa." She makes a face and tells her father _but she doesn't want to be a princess, _born into a world of spoiled luxuries and icky gowns, but her father just smiles. "You'll understand one day."

-o-

She _really_ doesn't want to be a princess.

The other boys in the neighborhood don't want her to be around them and they make fun of her for _being a girl, you can't do anything, why are you playing with us_, and she puffs her cheeks angrily and goes home stomping to her mother. Her mother pats her cheek fondly and tells her, "Boys are boys, and girls are girls, and it's okay for children to think that way. But Tifa, you should never be afraid to do what you want."

The next day she walks up to a boy in her bright turquoise skirt (she doesn't wear them because they're pretty; she just likes the color and the freedom it allows her legs), awkward little blue shoes, and pokes him in the head angrily (she told her mother and father that she just wanted to smack the boys but they gave her a stern look and told her that she should never resort to violence because it never held the answers for anything). "Just because I'm a girl, doesn't mean that I can't play with you!" she declares proudly.

The boy looks at his friends, unsure what to do. One of his friends sneers (she decides in her head that he will be Piggy because of the guttural and squeaking noises that his voice makes), "If you can kick a ball farther than all of us, then maybe you can play with us from now on."

"Fine!" She grabs the ball from the boy, sets it onto the ground and takes a step back. She sprints to the ball and lets loose a ferocious kick, sending the ball flying wildly into the air, out of the town's gate and into the wilderness beyond.

She smiles in triumph at the memory of dropped jaws and next day smiles and warm welcomes from the boys, and wants to tilt her head up to the sky and say _see? I earn my luxuries._

-o-

"Mama, who's that boy that lives two houses down from us?"

"His name is Cloud, Tifa. He's about your age."

"Really? He's really quiet. How come he doesn't talk, Mama?"

"Some children are a little more shy than others. I'm sure he's a nice boy. Why don't you talk to him?"

Tifa scrunches her nose. "He has funny hair."

"Oh Tifa, that's no reason to not talk to someone! His mother is a wonderful woman. I'm sure you would get along with Cloud just fine."

Tifa peers out the window and sees a familiar crop of spiky yellow hair . She sees him sitting near the town well and dangling his legs in his small brown sneakers. He looks up into the distance and she notices, that his eyes are as blue as the daytime sky.

She decides as she walks back into her room and sits down to let her fingers glide over the ivory keys of the piano ("Practice makes perfect," her mother says) that blue is the prettiest color.

-o-

She does not expect her mother's death.

Tifa sits at her piano bench and lets her feet dangle over the pedals. She reaches up and lets her fingers trace the keys, imagining that the ghost of her mother's hand is on her wrist and guiding her small hands over the right keys to play the right notes to the right song, but it all feels so wrong. Wrong in a kind of way that makes her flinch and withdraw her hand at the touch of the piano because the keys are cold, cold like the night her father tells her that Mama isn't with them anymore.

She can't decide if she wants to cry. She inhales sharply and furiously wipes away the tears that begin to bubble at the corner of her eyes. Only princesses shed tears for their most exquisite of sorrows, and _she's not a princess_. She's not helpless. She's not.

She plunks her hands down on the piano and plays a tune that her mother taught her so many years ago, and the major isn't right and the flats are all wrong, but she keeps on playing anyways.

She's not helpless.

-o-

Which is why she decides, two days later, that her mother isn't really dead.

She's just taking a nap in the coffin, that's all (she ignores the memory of the sad, sad look on her father's face when they slipped Mama into the coffin, and she ignores the memory of his whispering words of comfort to her).

She walks around the town in the middle of night when everyone is fast asleep and her gaze takes her to the slopes of Mt. Nibel looming in the background. It flickers in the night and she decides then, that her mother must be there. Her mother must be on the other side of the mountain, waiting for Tifa to greet her, and her mother will tell her that she is ready to teach Tifa how to play another song on the piano. She inhales and can almost feel the warmth of her mother's arms encircling her and pulling her into a hug, and it is what she wants more than anything right now.

She lets her limbs and her bright blue shoes carry her forward and into the winding slopes of Mt. Nibel.

(Her hand is on a rickety bridge and she shivers at the howling winds beneath her feet but she presses forward. Some haunting refrain is playing in the back of her mind and telling her that she really should just turn around and head back, but she ignores it. She_ will_ find her mother-)

-o-

A warm hand touches her forehead and she stirs awake, blinking in images of a dimly lit room—her room, the turquoise of her blankets, the gleam of the piano in the corner—and she looks up to see her father sighing in relief. She sits up but lets out a little cry as her head _rings_ and pounds in her ears and she forces back the tears because the pain whips her like never before.

But it isn't the ache in her bones that make the tears well up even more behind her eyes. She looks around the room and sees only her father staring back at her in concern. The air weighs down on her and the sounds in the room are a heavy quiet. She doesn't hear the clear soprano of her mother's voice travel through the air; she doesn't hear the soft hum of her mother's quiet murmurs in her hair.

And for the first time in years, she lets loose the tears and burrows her head into her father's shirt.

(It takes her another year before she can finally touch the piano again) (and even then, in so many ways, it still didn't feel right.)

-o-

Things change in their household afterwards.

Her father never lets her out past eight in the evenings. He is stern with his curfew; "It's not safe at night," he would say. She is only allowed to go out seldom, leaving her at home most of the time alone because her father would be working into the darker hours of the night.

But her bones ached so _badly_ to go outside and run around in the cool evening air, to laugh with her friends and play catch and do all of the silly things that she loved doing. Eight just wasn't the same as nine o'clock when the sun would be in complete darkness with the stars lighting up the skies like a glittering canopy.

She would never disobey her father though. It's just not right.

Tifa sits at her window and plops her elbows on the window sill, resting her chins in her hands and a frown settling on her face. She watches her friends run around in the dark of the night. For a moment, she thinks, maybe this is what those silly princesses felt like, trapped in their towers and staring into the outside world with longing. She isn't the same of course—her friends still visit her at home and they would spend hours laughing over things or playing drawing games, but those visiting hours just didn't have the same charm as letting her limbs loose and running around, inhaling the nighttime mountain air of Nibelheim.

And she hates it. Moments like these makes her feel like a helpless little girl trapped in the tower of her own house. She doesn't want to be a princess, born into a world surrounded by laced canopies and regal jewelry—she worked for her friendships with her own strength and she wouldn't have it any other way.

But right now, she wants someone to walk into her house and take her by the hand into the evening air underneath the Nibelheim stars, and she wonders maybe if princesses felt the same way she feels right now. She doesn't want a silly knight in shining armor (she always thought those full suits of armors in the books looked ridiculous), she just wants _someone_ to take her outside.

(She thought that the only reason her father didn't let her out was because she snuck out once and it had landed her in comatose for seven days (at least, that's what Papa said), until word reaches her ears that small fights have been starting randomly throughout their small town) (and she doesn't hide the surprise and confusion on her face when she learns from her friend that the black eye he got was from Cloud, and it was Cloud who was picking the small fights)

(Was that why her father didn't let her go outside as much anymore?)

-o-

She is walking home from school when she feels someone tap her shoulder. She turns and she almost lets out a little gasp in surprise when she sees Cloud withdrawing his hand, shyly. She doesn't fail to notice the bandage on his cheek, the scruff marks on his elbows, and the bruises on his knees. But the bandages and bruises don't stop her—they don't ever stop her—from letting her gaze wander to his blue, blue eyes.

"Hi…Tifa." It is the first time she hears his voice. It is soft, quiet, and along with his blue eyes he almost seems wise and so much older than she is, even though she was only his minor by a season of fall and winter.

Her voice comes out in an awkward squeak she didn't even know her voice was capable of."Hi Cloud."

"Could you…would you meet me at the well tonight? I want to tell you something."

Her heart almost skips a beat and it makes a sound that rings in her ears and she almost asks _but why_ because she knows what that well is and what it means for two people to meet there. "To…night?"

"Yeah. If that's okay, of course," he adds hastily. He looks to the side and shoves his hands in his pockets. "I wouldn't want to bother you."

She shakes her head. "I'll be there tonight. Um, Papa doesn't want me out past eight, so…"

"Then seven-thirty. It won't be long, I promise."

She nods. "Okay."

She waves him farewell and doesn't ignore the light _pitter-patter_ of her heart. It rings in her ears like a familiar melody that she doesn't have the right notes for.

Tifa goes back home and rummages desperately through her closets, her drawers, under her bed, and even in the kitchen cupboards. _Where is it? _She glances at the clock and her eyes widen at the time. Seven-twenty? She scratches the back of her head and crosses her arms in contemplation. _Where could it be? _

She stops and glances up. Her parent's room. Tifa opens the door and stares at her mother's closet. Years ago she would have refused to go near it because it smelled and felt too much like Mama, and her eight-year-old self couldn't handle it. But now, it was sitting there, like some sort of enchanting melody. She grapss the handle on the closet and opens the door.

Her eyes light up. _Found it. _

She walks downstairs and tells her father that she's going to go outside for just a minute, and he shoots her a small smile and tells her, "Just be back by eight, okay?"

Tifa lets out a little gasp as soon as she steps outside. The evening air greets her like an old friend, a rare swirl of stars in the skies singing a song to her and for once, she really does feel like a princess—not surrounded by pink and jewelry and dashing heroes, but underneath the luxury of the Nibelheim stars and breathing in the crisp mountain air that makes her lungs sing.

She walks up to the well and sees him sitting on the edge, dangling his legs, and for a moment she watches him: his spiky yellow hair fluttering in the wind, his blue eyes staring downwards and watching his brown shoes play in the open air.

_"_Hi, sorry I'm late."

He looks up and his eyes widen in surprise. He blinks, and then he smiles-_he smiles_.

His smile, she decides triumphantly in her mind, is just as pretty as his blue-eyes.

He tells her that he's going to join SOLDIER, and she lets her feet dangle in her bright blue shoes and she pats the hem of her bright turquoise dress—_a dress her mother gave her for her seventh birthday with a warm smile telling her that she should wear this dress for the greater occasions because the color suited her—_because she figured that tonight would be a good night to wear the dress.

She looks at the stars and the image burns so brightly in her mind, the song they sing ringing so clearly in her ears, the air so clear filling her lungs _deep_, and she can't help but think that, maybe she's not a helpless princess waiting in the towers, but a girl with all of the luxuries in her small life with the right turquoise dress for the moment, and all that's left is…

He tilts his head in confusion at her request for a promise. She lets her legs dangle and slips her hands underneath her legs and tells him.

"Whenever I'm in trouble my hero will come rescue me. I want to at least experience that once."

It doesn't sound right on her lips to tell him that she just wants someone to be her hero to her Nibelheim-princess, that the moment just needs the image of a hero to complete the melody, but when she tugs on his sleeve to make the promise for him to come rescue her and be _her_ hero, somehow it sings a song that feels even more right in her thirteen-year-old bones.

She goes to bed that night thinking of the nighttime stars and eyes as blue as the daytime sky.

-o-

One by one, her friends start to leave town. She hugs them each and waves them farewell, calling out to them and telling them to write back.

And finally, Cloud leaves. She watches from her window as he hugs his mother—he is taller than her now, standing half a head taller than her and a head taller than his small mother—and she runs downstairs—"Where are you going, Tifa?" her father calls out, but she's running too fast to give him a real answer—and she stops at the bottom of her front doorsteps, listening to the sound of her panting breath.

She watches him walk off and she almost yells out to tell him good-bye, almost lets her legs carry her forward and run up to him and hug him fiercely to wish him good luck…

…but instead, she drops her hand to her side and watches him walk off.

Cloud is going to join SOLDIER. He's going to become someone, grow stronger, and one day he'll come back stronger than ever.

She decides, as she walks back into the house, she wasn't going to be those silly princesses locked in towers waiting for their hero. She's not going to let him swoop in and save her like some frilly prince-charming, like some dumb love story.

He's going to get stronger, and so will she. Never mind princesses and heroes, she thinks. She's going to be tough enough to handle things on her own. She's going to be as good as a hero that he'll be, and just as strong as him. She's not going to be the incompetent one.

And when he actually does save her, it'll be an even greater moment of strength for him, won't it?

She walks back upstairs and smiles at her father's quizzical look as she passes by and sits on the piano bench.

And for the first time in _years_, she lets her fingertips press down on the ivory keys and the sounds come out right in her ears.

-o-

(One month later a travelling martial arts teacher visits their town.)

(Her name is the first on his sign-up list.)

* * *

**A/N: **Whew! Originally I was going to do a study on her _entire life_, but when I got to the last paragraph I was like huh. This is a good ending point, actually.

One way of looking at Tifa is that underneath the fighting shell is someone who just wants another person to take care of her, hence her secret desire for a hero, hence that promise. But I think that's something that develops later in her life, not when she's a kid. As a kid, I think the real part about her was discovering her own strength and learning that it's okay to have some help (and I'm sure in ways she's still learning how to do that)- isn't that part of what being a kid's about?

Anyways. That's my shpeal on that. I don't know if that made much sense. I did enjoy writing this though.


	2. decrescendo

Oops, guess this is turning into a multi-part thing.

Part two for Tifa. Anyone ever wonder what happened to her pre-AVALANCHE? I do!

Disclaimer: I don't own FF7

**__****decrescendo**

* * *

The sound of gunfire she decides, is something she'd rather leave buried in the ground rather than ringing in her ears.

_She woke up blurry eyed and her chest searing with a burning, aching pain. Tifa rolled over and groaned into the soft mattress—soft mattress? She sat up slowly and looked around. She was in a dark room, with a single window letting moonlight flutter in. _

"_Tifa?" She turned her head and saw Zangan standing in the doorway. _

"_M…aster?"_

"_Thank goodness. You are awake. You have been out for nearly three days." He walked over and sat down at her bedside. "The doctor said that you would be awake soon, but even then…"_

"_I…" she looked down at her hands. "But everyone—" she choked on her words and tears started to well up, images of fire burning hot in her lungs, searing in her skin, and the smell of blood, blood, blood everywhere. She put her face in her hands and felt Zangan's strong and worn hand on her shoulder, gripping firmly. _

_She let the tears wrack her body and didn't care about the sharp pain that ran down her chest._

_Nothing was going to bring back her home. _

She's screwed.

Her breath comes out in short gasps as she sprints forward, dodging gunfire and letting her worn boots pound the rusted earth beneath. She jerks to the left and makes a sharp turn into the alleyway, almost stopping at the sight of the fence, but she hears angry shouts trail far back behind.

She grits her teeth and _springs_ and leaps over the fence, metal grazing her shins through fabric but _can't care, don't have time to shriek in pain _and she rolls to a stop.

The voices catch up and the shuffle of boots skid to a halt. Tifa holds her breath and listens to muffled curses.

They walk away.

She sighs and stands up, brushing her pants. Her fingers stop at the touch of denim and she narrows her eyes at it. The bulkiness practically halted the movements of her legs—or much worse, nearly caught themselves onto the spike of the fence.

This is why she hated wearing long pants. Never mind the claims about denim comfort and open cotton that let the legs breathe; these things are a complete nightmare! She can't move her legs properly in them _at all_. The fabric keeps rubbing against her knees and the seam of the crotch can't even hold out a roundhouse kick (she tried once.

It ended up with sewing needles and a lot of bandages).

"_Master, thank you."_

_Zangan looked up and his eyes crinkled at the corners on his aged face. "I will stay with you until you get better, Tifa. For now, rest." _

_She closed her eyes and pushed the image of her burning house out of her mind._

Tifa sits down and leans against the brick wall of the alleyway. Her eyelids felt like they were going to come crashing down on her any minute, but she can't fall asleep. Not here. Not anywhere in this city.

She whips her head at the sound of a woman's scream. Her limbs plead for her to stay down but she shakes her head, as her father's slumped form flashes in her mind. She grits her teeth, and stands up, letting her legs (however bulky the pants were) take her forward. She doesn't want to see another dead body.

Tifa rounds the corner and can feel the bile crawl up the back of her throat. She doesn't need to ask twice at the sound of the man's short grunts and the woman's anguished screams. Anger surges in her eyes and she dashes forward, her fists curling in her leather gloves.

She steps and lets her fist sail into the man's face, smashing him into the corner of the wall. She blows the bangs out of her eyes as he slumps to the ground, unconscious.

"Th-thank you…" the woman stutters, her whisper barely heard above the steaming pipes above. Tifa turns her head and smiles down at the woman, offering her a hand. "You're welcome."

_There was never much in the sleepy mountains of Nibelheim, but she loved her town. It embraced her, cold mountain air wrapping around her lungs and the stars lighting up the skies that hung like a glittering canopy. In a lot of ways, she was a princess of little Nibelheim, no matter how much she didn't want to be one—daughter of the most influential man in the town, and perhaps the only female in her age group. _

_And when she saw the burning buildings sparked with flames and clouding the skies with haze, all she could feel burning fiercely in her chest was deep anger and bitter resentment. Some princess she was, unable to even protect her own homeland. Some fighter she was, unable to protect her father and everyone in the town that she loved. _

_She hated feeling helpless. _

Tifa treads silently around the corner, peeking around to make sure that no Shinra grunts were walking the streets. She breathes a low sigh of relief when she doesn't spot the familiar colors of navy blue and turquoise. She takes a step out into the streets, coughing at the smog that wafts through the air. What's with this city? Why is the air so muggy, and how do these people breathe in it? She coughs again. _I don't know if I'll ever get used to it. _

She finds a bus stop and sits down on the bench. Why did those guards chase her? One moment she was shouting at a man in a suit for pick pocketing a jewelry sample from a street vendor and the next moment she was on the verge of being rained down by bullets.

Realization smacks her in the face. _Smart going. _Anyone in a suit walking in the grungy streets of Sector Seven is guaranteed Shinra employee material.

She needs to stop playing street vigilante in the shaky streets of Sector Seven, she thinks to herself bitterly. Fists could break bones but guns could make blood splash. She can't die here, not in these filthy streets. She's probably the only one from back home that is still alive.

Tifa pushes the image of spiky blonde hair out of her mind and ignores the ache in her chest.

"_Tifa, are you sure you will be fine by yourself?"_

_She flexed her fists in response and nodded. "I feel much better now."_

"_Midgar is not like other places, Tifa."_

"_Master, I'll be fine," she said smiling. "If anything happens I will be able to fight. That is why I trained with you, after all! I think this small job will be able to last for me. It pays for rent as well." _

"_I know that you can fight. You are one of my most precious students," Zangan said, smiling fondly. "But Shinra's stronghold is here in Midgar. You must not lash out at them, no matter how strong your emotions may be. Your life is more important, Tifa." _

_Tifa clenched her fists and looks to the ground. "I understand." _

"_I know you do." He shouldered his pack and reached out, embracing her. "Take care of yourself." _

_Tears crept up at the corner of her eyes and she hugged him back tightly. "Thank you. Thank you so much." _

But she failed Zangan miserably.

The bar work that she did was easy. She learned how to mix different drinks, force a smile onto her face, and take orders.

And she learned that Midgar was _not_ the same as Nibelheim. In her early days she could run around freely in skirts, letting her legs enjoy the freedom of being able to stretch in whatever ways she wanted them to, of being able to run, jump, and kick as she liked. No one cared what she looked like—more than often, the other boys admired her for being able to physically match them in games of kickball or tag.

Midgar, thought otherwise.

"Wouldn't _I_ like to have those legs wrapped around me."

"It'd be easy too, with that short skirt of hers."

The comments continued. The first day she heard them she walked out of the bar and into the back-room, red-faced and furious. Her manager came in looking for her and sighed, telling her that she couldn't run around in skirts in a Midgar bar. Let alone any bar, or anywhere in Midgar. She frowned; she hated pants. But she wasn't going to give up her job just because her legs were uncomfortable.

There was grumbling from the customers about her choice of clothing, some hoarse whispers coated with whiskey wondering where her skirt went, but for the most part the perverse muttering and the lecherous glances stopped.

Her spite for Shinra and anguish for her hometown never did though.

"…So I took a visit to the back mountains for a business trip maybe six, seven years ago, and lemme tell ya. There ain't _nothing_ in the mountains—just _nothing_."

"Where'd you go?"

He took a long swig from his jug and set it down. "Some grungy ol' town called Nibelheim. I only went because there was a reactor there. Nothing else is worth seeing."

She clenched her fists and started scrubbing the dishes furiously to distract herself.

"Huh. Doesn't sound too exciting."

"Tell me about it. 'S the point of putting a reactor there anyways? It's so damn far. They should've just stuck one near Corel or somethin'. No point in a place like Nibelheim existing. Ey, woman! Can I get a refill?"

She grabbed his empty mug and poured more beer angrily into it and slammed it down in front of it. "Shit! What's it to you, you crazy bitch?"

"Nibelheim isn't nothing," she muttered, turning away.

He snorted. "What're you, from that town? I feel sorry for you. Not being exposed to luxuries like this all your life, just stuck in a backwater town with a dingy well."

She kept quiet. _Can't lose control. Can't lose this job. _

"The town should just burn to the ground, since it's so damn useless. Turn to ashes. Shit's easy to clean anyways, right—"

He never finished his words because her fist was in his mouth, sending him to the ground and smashing through the windows. There was a collective gasp, and then silence, save for her own seething anger.

She froze. _Wait. _

She looked down at her hands and she looked up at the smashed glass and the groan from the man in the suit and her blood ran cold. _No. No. No. No. _

"Tifa…"

The voice of her manager did not do anything to soothe her.

Tifa sits at the edge of the bench on the sidewalk idly, watching the cars drive down the streets and the people walk by. She's not carrying much with her- just clothes and some toiletries in a pack.

She burrows her head in her hands and lets out a long sigh. _I can't believe I did that. Zangan's gone, and now I'm wandering the streets in pants and wondering where I'm going to go now. How could I have been so dumb? _

She fishes through her pockets and finds some spare gil. Probably enough to last her for a couple more days. But then, what happens after that?

Tifa shakes her head and purses her lips. She _has_ to find a job. Somewhere. Anywhere. She rubs her eyes and blinks blearily. _How much sleep have I gotten? Probably enough to count on one finger?_ She leans back and sighs, wrapping her hands around her arms.

"Watch out, Denzel!" She turns at the sound of a warm voice and sees a tall mother scolding her son. He stares down at his feet and mumbles. "Sorry, Mom." The mother reaches out and rubs her son's back. "I'm just looking out for you, Denzel. That's what families do, right?"

The little boy looks up and smiles earnestly at his mother, and they walk down the sidewalk, hand in hand. Tifa blinks and looks down at her own hands. Her hands were like that once, holding her Father or Mother's hand and walking around in the little town of Nibelheim.

That feeling was somewhere deep, deep in her heart. Along with _a shy boy that promised to be there for h—_she pushes that thought out of her mind.

Tifa stands up and sighs. She really needs to get a job.

-o-

Seventh Heaven?

She blinks at the large neon sign hanging on the wood furnishings of the building. Maybe they're accepting jobs, she thinks. She walks up the steps and opens the door.

A bar. People sat at various tables, drinking and laughing. She inhales at the scent of whiskey. Her father always had a collection of whiskey in their cabinet. He would always tell her about different types, how they were brewed—it was his business, after all.

"Hello, sir?"

A large man in a red bandana turned to look at her, and smiles. She pauses, and smiles back genuinely.

She hasn't seen a smile as warm as his in a long time (_not the perverse smirks that always found their way to her legs, to her chest, to all of her physical qualities that they couldn't get their minds off of) (not the contemptuous ones that looked down at her in disdain—the women that held their noses high up, the women with their hair pulled back and looking at her with a knowing smile of utter condescension)("Street rat") ("Urchin") ("Tramp") (they all smiled the same things). _

"What can I get for you?" He says.

"I'm wondering whether or not you guys were offering job openings? I've worked in a bar before."

"Hm…I'd have to talk to the boss about it. We're a little cramped with employment payment and everything. It's been a while since we've offered any jobs before."

She shakes her head. "It's fine. I'll take anything."

"Tell you what: wait here, and I'll go get the boss. We'll see what we can do for you."

She beams brightly. "Thank you so much!"

Tifa watches as the man turns and heads to the back room, crossing her fingers that he'll return with good news.

"Hey babe, how you doin'?"

She whips her head at the slurred voice. A man sidles up and sits down next to her. "I'm fine," she responds curtly.

He reaches out and plays with a strand of her hair and she flinches. "You're hot, you know that? Whatchu doin' wearin' those baggy pants?"

"Sir, you're making me uncomfortable. Can you please stop?"

"Can't blame a man for getting all riled up at the sight of a babe," he drawls lazily, dropping his hand. He scoots closer and she leans away. "Wouldn't I like to have legs like yours wrapped around me."

She stands up and shoves the man aside, glaring at him, clenching her fists.

"Eh, what's it to you, you little bitch? You think you can fight me or somethin'?" He lets out a short bark of laughter. "Women like you should just stay put behind the counter and in the beds."

She can't let her anger get the best of her. Not here—_especially_ not here.

"Sir, you should resume talking to your friends." _Leave me alone, please. _

"Oh no, I'm not done here." He stands up and she realizes that he's much taller than her. His arm shoots out and holds hers in a vice-grip. "Women like you need to be taught a _damn lesson_."

All eyes in the bar were on them now. She looks up and glares at him. "Let go of me, please."

"You ain't going anywhere, you little bitch," he hisses, his fingers making their way to the hem of her pants. "We're going to find out what kind of legs are underneath these pants—"

She flips him over and breaks his grip, slamming him into the floor, and smashing him into the wood. She bends over and picks him up by the neck of his t-shirt. "I told you to let go, didn't I?" she says between her clenched teeth. He's still moaning and she drops him, letting his body slump to the ground.

"Well I'll be damned!"

She whips around and sees the man in the red bandana standing next to a large man. _Is that the boss?_ His arms were crossed and he was looking at the scene in satisfaction. Tifa bows her head quickly, and tries to ignore the surging heat that flushed her cheeks. "I'm so sorry, I didn't to cause such a ruckus. I'll clean it up, I swear—"

"Ain't nothin' wrong with you just did!" He walks over and claps her on the back. She stumbles at his strength; his sheer size was no laughing matter. "Don't mind 'im. That poor bastard always does this. 'Bout time someone showed him somethin'!"

She blinks. "But I…"

"You got spunk, kid, 'n I like that! Biggs there told me that you were lookin' for a job. We could use another girl helpin' us out."

She stares at him and the large grin stretched widely over his face. He's serious.

She smiles back, and she relishes the way it stretches over her face and dimples her cheeks. "There isn't a dress code, right?"

He laughs. "Hell no! Lookit what I got on my arm!" He holds up a large prosthetic machine gun on his right arm. "'Course I'm not gonna let you walk around in some cape-shit or anythin' like that."

She laughs. "Don't worry, I won't do that."

He grins widely. "Consider yourself hired! You cook or anything? The most we've got on the menu is soup and even that don't taste right…"

"I make a good casserole," she says brightly as she follows him to the backroom.

_Maybe Midgar isn't so bad after all._

-o-

Later at night she walks into the small bedroom and does the first thing that she's been dying to do for the past week.

She takes off her pants and rips them apart, tossing the fabric scraps into the closet. Tifa stretches her legs and smiles at the freedom, at the feel of cold air whooshing against her calves as she gives a little kick. She listens to the sound of _whoosh_ as she kicks again, and her muscles hum a familiar tune.

_Still not acceptable to walk around butt-naked though. Oops. _She fishes through her pack and pulls out her skirt, slipping it over her legs. _Ah. Much better. _

Tifa collapses into the hard mattress and sighs against the cotton sheets. Her body feels a little warmer (_the cold steaming pipes and rough metal of the alleyways could never do this)_ and she smiles into the pillow, thinking of Bigg's cheerful voice, Jessie's bright laugh, Wedge's low chuckle, Barrett's roaring laughter, Marlene's shy voice, and the happiness that filled her ears deep.

She doesn't know if she can call it home just yet, but she hopes in the future that she'll be able to.

Tifa sighs and closes her eyes. That night, she dreams of the Nibelheim stars.

-o-

"There's another part to workin' here, Tifa."

"What is it?" she says, looking up from the receipts.

Barret walks over and sits down in front of her. "You ever hear about the group, AVALANCHE?"

Avalanche. She only saw blips of them on the news but she couldn't remember. The short amount of time before she stumbled into Seventh Heaven was sleepless and cold (_cold and rusted metal pressed against her back as she curled up in a small alleyway, closing her eyes lightly but keeping her senses awake for any intruders) (her body told her to rest but her mind told her that she wasn't going to end herself here, of all places)_. "Not really. Why?"

"Shinra's suckin' out the Lifestream to form Mako. That's what powers these damn cities and keeps the electricity runnin'. The Planet's dyin', and Shinra don't care. That's what AVALANCHE is for."

"Of course they wouldn't care," she says bitterly. "They don't ever care about anything. They'd burn towns if they wanted to."

He arches his eyebrows. "Sounds like you got a score to settle with 'em."

She looks down to the ground. "Just a bit."

"You wanna join AVALANCHE then?"

She looks up and sees a twinkle in his eyes and it clicks in her mind with a resounding _pop_.

That's what the pinball machine is for. That's why he, Biggs, Wedge, and Jessie went out yesterday; that's why he asked her to stay behind and take care of Marlene.

"But what about Marlene?"

"We'll rotate who takes care of her on our mission days. Think you got the resolve in you to do it?"

She can't remember when she started feeling so much violent hatred bubble deep within her. Was she always so violent? (_the little girl in the turquoise dress and little blue shoes shook her head) _But she wants to fight; she wants to take out her anger on the very people that made her feel this way, the people that took her home away from her.

And most of all, she wants to protect her new comrades.

She nods and grins back. "Just let me know when the next mission is."

-o-

She sits at Jessie's bedside and watches the woman breathe slowly. Tifa looks down at her own bandaged arm –_bullets from Shinra infantrymen hiss by her arm and cut open the flesh—_and back at Jessie. At least the bleeding stopped. _They stumbled into the bar and she slammed open the door to the bedroom, startling Marlene. Barrett lifted Jessie's bleeding form onto the bed, and Tifa ignored the little reminder in her head that told her the sheets would stain. _

"_She gonna be okay?" Wedge asked, fumbling for bandages and aspirin from the first aid kit. _

"_She got shot in the side—no damage near her vitals though. Thank god," Biggs said, walking over with a bowl of cold water. "Hey Jessie—you alright there?"_

_She opened one eye and smiled up at them weakly. "Been better."_

She reaches out and grips Jessie's hand. Jessie cracks open an eye and smiles at Tifa. "You don't have to stay, Tifa. I'm feeling better now."

Tifa shakes her head. "Someone's got to stay with you."

A light knock raps the door and she turns to see Barrett, rubbing his eyes blearily. "'s matter Tifa? It's three in the mornin' already. Get some rest."

She smiles tiredly. "I'm fine, Barrett."

"You gotta take care of yo'self too, y'know. Jessie'll be fine."

"I'm really okay Barrett. Tomorrow we get the day off anyways, don't we? I can take a nap tomorrow and it'll be alright."

He sighs. "If you say so."

He leaves and she turns her attention back to Jessie. She sighs and leans back against the chair and listens to the hum of the night lamp.

-o-

"Tifa…"

She stirs at the clear sound of a child's voice. Marlene?

"Tifa?"

She opens her eyes slowly and watches the sunlight filter in through the curtains. "Tifa! You're awake!" She sits up and turns her head. Marlene stood at the side of her bed, smiling brightly.

"_Marlene, this is Tifa. She's gonna be workin' with us from now on!" A little girl poked her head shyly from the doorway. "Hi Tifa," she whispered. _

_Tifa regarded her, curiously. She watched Marlene's large round eyes look up at her—hands behind the small of her yellow dress and little feet twiddling idly at the floor. _

_And for a moment, she had absolutely no idea how to react. _

_She inhaled and tried to remember the way her mother treated her when she was a child. Soft soprano voice. Soothing words. "Hi, Marlene," she said brightly, extending her hand. "My name's Tifa. Will you let me take care of you?"_

_Marlene walked forward tentatively and placed her hand in Tifa's. The fit of her tiny hand in Tifa's slender and calloused one made Tifa's bones ache with a warm nostalgic feeling. She didn't want to let go of her little hand, she thought. She wanted to hold it forever and protect it. _

"_You're really pretty," Marlene said, smiling shyly up at her. _

_A strange feeling blooms in Tifa's heart (and it reminds her of the ivory keys of the piano, the deep baritone of her father's voice, the soft soprano of her mother's, the Nibelheim stars, and the shy whisper of a boy with eyes as blue as the daytime sky) and she reached out and hugged Marlene. Barrett chuckled. "Knew you two'd get along!"_

"Hi sweetie. Do you know what time it is?"

"Eleven o'clock in the morning!"

"Oops. Slept a little long, didn't I?"

Marlene shakes her head. "Papa told me to make sure you got up alright. He said that it's okay for you to rest today!"

She smiles. "I'll have to tell him 'thank you' then."

At first, talking to Marlene was one of the strangest experiences she ever had.

Sometimes Marlene would poke her head around the corner, watching Tifa cook, and Tifa would turn and look at her for a moment. Marlene would just hide back behind the doorway and disappear, leaving Tifa puzzled. Should she approach her? Or wait for her to come up to her?

She'd ask herself, what would her Mama do?

After the fourth, and then the fifth time, Tifa called out to Marlene. "M…arlene? Would you like to cook with me?" Marlene poked her head around the doorway and smiled brightly. "It that's okay with you, Tifa."

"Of course it is. Come on, let's make dinner together."

Ever since then, she learned that Marlene was actually a mature and very talkative girl.

"So. Is there anything you want to do today?" Tifa says, sitting up to stretch her arms.

Marlene scrunches her face for a moment in contemplation, and her face lights up. "Can we make cookies today?"

"Cookies?" Tifa says, arching an eyebrow. "Aren't you supposed to be eating healthy vegetables and fruits, silly?"

"Buuuuut Tifa your cookies are the best. Did your Mama teach you how to cook? Because you cook really well!"

She didn't like talking about the past much—_fire still burned in her chest_—but Marlene was never a part of it. None of these people were a part of it. The happiness of her childhood deserves to be shared—especially, with Marlene.

"A little bit of my Mama. And then, I had to learn how to cook a lot because my Mama disappeared so it was just me and my Papa," she says smiling (_Laughter and the sound of meat sizzling on the pan rang in their house, as her Papa ruffled her head when he walked by and headed upstairs)_ (_Papa cooked breakfast and they took turns cooking dinner. During the day she cooked lunch for herself, and it was a routine that embedded itself into her bones when she was nine.). _"I guess that's why I know so many recipes!"

Marlene giggles and takes a hold of Tifa's hand. "Can you teach me how to cook one day?"

Tifa looks down and regards Marlene's little hand in hers. It was small and clean. As clean as a six-year olds hands could be, as clean as a six-year old that spent most of her days indoors waiting for her Father to come back home every day.

She grips Marlene's hands. "I can teach you how to bake cookies today. And later, when you grow up, I'll teach you how to cook your Daddy's favorite soup."

Marlene beams. "Yay! Thank you Tifa!" She throws herself into Tifa's arms and Tifa hugs her back.

She decides, that she will do anything to protect the future of this little girl, and the future of the members of her new _family?_ The term rolls off her tongue, and it's one that she couldn't taste in her mouth for a long time. But it feels right and feels warm in her skin, warm in her stomach, warm in her throat. Family.

"And, Tifa?"

"Hmm?"

"If you're too tired, then you should rest! You need to take care of yourself too. And let us take care of you!"

Her words ring in Tifa's heart (_of a promise at the well underneath bright stars, of a shy little boy who promised that he'd come and save her no matter what)_. "I…"

"I'll take care of you, Tifa!" She looks at Marlene and sees a flicker of a boy with bright yellow hair and bright blue eyes.

She hugs Marlene back tightly and whispers, "Thank you."

Maybe deep down inside, underneath her bruised knuckles, baggy eyes, and desire to protect everyone dear to her-

_"Promise me!" _

-that was all she ever wanted.

Needless to say, the cookies that they make later that day turn out delicious.

-o-

"Say Tifa…"

"Hmm?"

"Do you think it's alright if y'know. Just took over the bar?"

Startled, she looks up from her calculations. "What?"

Biggs scratched his head. "You really know what you're doing, and you know how to mix all the right drinks. I don't' have a clue as to what to do, and neither do Jessie, Wedge, and Barrett, for the most part."

"Oh…well, if it's okay with you then—"

"Please," he holds his hands up. "It makes a lot more sense for you to be the real owner of the bar anyways." He smiles. "But we'll be there to help you if you ever need it!"

She watches as he heads back downstairs and a strange feeling bubbles deep inside her. It was part pride, part happiness, part every single optimistic thought that she could ever think of combined into one. _I'm the caretaker of Seventh Heaven. I'm the caretaker of—of, my new family. _The words sing in her head, like a clear song whispering to her fingers to touch ivory keys once more.

Tifa files away the receipts and walks out from behind the bar and steps outside. She sits down on the porch-steps and listens to the sounds of the creaking wood, to the sounds of laughter of the neighbors, to the sounds of the flickering lights that glittered the streets.

She hugs her knees and smiles contently, wondering whether or not if her town would be proud of her right now.

Tifa closes her eyes and listens to the memory of her mother's humming voice, her father's deep laugh, the chorus of the Nibelheim stars, and the soft whisper of _Cloud_.

She hopes that they're as happy as she is right now.

-o-

* * *

Two years later, she bumps into the hilt of a large sword on her way back from the super market and looked up to see a tuft of spiky yellow hair and eyes as blue as the daytime sky.

She never screamed so loudly in her life.

* * *

**A/N: **Ta-dahh. Did I do alright? Criticism, por favor!


	3. soprano

__This was originally a story of its own BUT I felt like it would fit in semi-well with all of this. It's like the previous story + more future.

Takes place hm, spanning FFVII - post AC.

Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy 7.

**soprano**

* * *

_The first kiss he gives her smelled like wood and flowers._

Tifa flips through the receipts, her mouth drawn in a taut line, and she lets out a small sound of frustration. The calculations don't add up, and she doesn't know why. Sighing, she closes her folder of thousands of tiny papers and throws it loftily to the side of the couch, ignoring the fluttering of receipts that fall to the ground. She throws her limbs back, kicking her feet up in the air and letting them sit on the small seat in front of her.

She sighs. The warmth of the sofa welcomes her, inviting her to take a nap and save her brain from any more unnecessary math. She is done for the day.

She closes her eyes and listens to the creak of the door and the sound of his footsteps as he walks in. She turns her head slightly and sees him walking over. "Hi, Cloud. Barrett wanted to see you. He's downstairs."

He nods and turns to leave. She lets her eyes close again and feels herself drifting off to sleep. She'll have to wake up later to make sure Marlene gets into bed properly. She feels her muscles go soft and her mind sinks into slumber…

She wakes up the next morning in her bed, confused, and for some reason, she smells the faint trace of white lilies and feels the ghost of a touch on her cheek.

(She never made the connection that they smelled like the flowers from the church in Sector 5 until years later. "I fell through a roof and landed in a flowerbed," he said plainly.) (She believed him, but it was difficult not to laugh.)

_The second kiss tasted like dirt._

She listens to the sound of the setting sun and the whispers of the nighttime air and clasps her hands behind her back nervously. Her breath hitches when she hears him approach her from behind, and her heart begins a familiar _thump _when she feels his hand on her shoulder. She doesn't ignore the nervous feeling in her chest when she listens to him whisper her name, and she doesn't ignore the tingle in her bones when she feels his fingertips trail down her arm and into her hand.

He turns her around slowly and he leans forward, his mouth hovering over hers, and she is staring at his eyes because it is such a startling-hue of blue, crackling in the colors of the night.

She tiptoes and presses her lips on his, and she forgets what happens amidst shy limbs, grungy clothes, and the feeling of his mouth on hers.

(She tried to forget all of the red-faced embarrassment that crawled up her lungs and out into the open air in indignation when she found out that the others had been listening.) ("Tifa, uh…the others…" Cloud began. Her cheeks blossomed an embarrassing shade of red. "Um…let's…not talk about it." He coughed and nodded, his face too a hilarious hue of pink.)

_The third kiss sounded like a 14-year old Nibelheim boy underneath the mako-eyes, Jenova-cells, and hard ex-mercenary jaw. _

_It sounded, like him. _

Tifa hums a faint tune and turns over the closed sign. She tosses the rag into the sink and heads over to the couch to sit down. Her hands reach out and turn on the radio, letting her muscles unfurl as she sinks into the couch. "_In recent news: Geostigma still resides in some residents, but Shinra states that they have been working tirelessly to make sure that everyone gets cured as soon as possible…"_

She hears the creak of the door and the sound of his footsteps tread across the wooden floor. She turns her head slightly, "There's dinner in the fridge if you'd like me to heat it up—"

—he is wrapping his arms around her from behind the couch, and he bends over to bury his nose in the crook of her neck, his spiky hair poking her in the face and tickling her. She laughs and reaches up to rest her hand on his arms. "Cloud? Did something happen?"

"'Snothingjustgladtobeback," he mumbles, his warm breath trickling onto her neck. "Cloud," she says, amused. "I can't understand you if you mumble." She twists and pulls away from him so she can get a good look at his face. She smiles at him and puts her hand on his. "Why don't you sit down?"

He sits down next to her and leans back into the comfort of the couch. "So. How was your day?" she asks.

"Ran into Barrett. He can't stop talking about oil and how he thinks it's going to be the new energy source."

"That's a good thing isn't it?"

"Yeah," he says, propping his legs up on the table in front. "Good to know that he's doing well."

"Mm-hmm."

They sit in silence, but she doesn't mind. She is more comfortable listening to the quiet of the bar, the hum of the slow ceiling fan and the swinging lamps that sway in the air.

"Tifa, when'd you hang that picture up on the wall?"

"Hm?" She looks up and sees Cloud pointing at a lopsided drawing of her, him, Denzel, and Barrett. Or more specifically: sausage blob with yellow zig-zags, brown bear with a gray rectangle, stick figure woman with red eyes and a lopsided smile, and brown squiggles on a potato blob.

"Oh, Marlene drew it at school the other day. I thought it was cute, and that it'd be nice for the customers to see. Better than all the boring pictures of places around the world."

"I see."

"Why ask?"

"Dunno. Just reminded me something of when I was a kid."

"And…?"

"It's not that important," he says. She arches her eyebrow. He coughs. "Well…okay. I just remember you drew a picture of your dad and it kind of looked like how Marlene drew…Barrett?"

"But Cloud, my Papa doesn't even look like Barrett."

"Yeah, well. That's…sort of my point."

She narrows her eyes. "Cloud. Are you saying that I couldn't draw when I was a kid?"

"Well…all I really remember is that you drew your dad and made him look like a giant orange bear."

She snorts. "Giant orange bear."

"Nevermind," he mutters, looking away. "Like I said, it's really not that big of a deal."

Tifa stares at him for a moment, and breaks into a fit of giggles. "Cloud, you're silly."

"Silly?" He looks at her, bewildered. "I'm not silly."

"You definitely are. Even Marlene says so."

"Marlene thinks everyone's 'silly.'"

"She says that you're _especially_ silly."

He grumbles. "I'm not silly. Silly's for wimps."

"Mm-hmm. That explains why the only thing you can think of when you look at Marlene's drawing is my drawing of Papa when I was a kid."

"Hey. Your drawing was…bad."

"Cloud!"

"…Sorry."

She sighs and leans back against the couch. "Hey, Tifa?"

"Hm?"

"I wonder what it'd be like if I just stayed in town and didn't leave."

"Hmm…that's hard to say. What do you think?"

"Dunno."

"We might have gotten to know each other. You might have grown up a different person. I might have grown up a different person. Who knows?"

"I'd probably grow up to be really boring."

"Oh Cloud. I always thought you were interesting. You wouldn't have been boring."

"Interesting?"

"Well, you were always really quiet. And you had your outrageous hair, of course," she adds with a smirk.

"Hey. My hair has _personality_."

She bursts into a fit of giggles. "Cloud that's so ridiculous. What's everyone else's hair then, dull and boring?"

"Exactly."

She laughs again and looks up at him, smiling. "I'm glad you're back, Cloud," she says, reaching out and squeezing his hand.

He looks down at her hand and looks back at her. There's a smile in his blue eyes that makes her feel warm inside. It's a feeling that she likes. He reaches up and pushes her hair behind her ear, resting his palm on her cheek and she turns to meet it, closing her eyes.

"Tifa…"

She looks up and her eyes widen in surprise at how close he is. His mouth is hovering over hers and she wonders if she should lean forward and close the gap—

-he presses his mouth against hers, lightly and softly, and pulls back, resting his forehead against hers. He closes his eyes and sighs, and his warm breath tickles her nose.

"…If someone told me that I'd be living together with you and taking care of kids back Nibelheim, I might've picked a fight because I thought they'd be making fun of me," he says.

"Papa probably would've thrown a fit," she says laughing.

"…yeah, he didn't like me very much."

"He didn't really know you. I didn't even know you that well either, you know."

"Yeah. I was pretty quiet."

"You _are_ quiet, Cloud."

"Hm." He leans back and grabs Tifa's arm in the process, pulling her down with him. She wriggles her body and rests her arms on his chest, and he wraps his arms around her back. "Is quiet bad?"

"No," she says, smiling. "I like quiet."

"Oh. That's good then."

She smiles and burrows her head against his chest, inhaling at the scent of gasoline, dirt, cold metal, flowers, a little bit of the bar—all of the things that just smell like _him. _

"…Cloud, don't take a shower."

"Huh? Tifa…isn't that gross?"

"No, no, take one later. But don't take one now." She breathes in again. "You smell nice."

"I've been travelling all day. Don't I probably smell like dirt and gasoline?"

"It's fine," she says. "It smells like you."

"Well…okay."

She smiles and listens to the soft chuckle rumble in his chest, and the hushed tenor of his whisper, _"Thanks, Tifa." _

(She couldn't help but laugh at the memory of Denzel walking downstairs, looking for food, only to find her and Cloud lying on top of one another on the couch.) (Tifa listened to Marlene, amused and a tiny bit embarrassed, when Marlene told her that ever since then Denzel had been pressing his ear against either of her or Cloud's door just to make sure that there weren't any "weird sounds.")

(Despite also knowing this, Cloud still made it a habit to come into her room at night and crawl under the comforters with her. "Just seems like a normal family-thing to do," he said plainly. Not that she was complaining.)

(But he still complained whenever she threw her arm around him in the middle of the night and smacked him in the chest too hard.)

* * *

**A/N: **So...in my head, out of all of Tifa's senses sound is probably her sharpest. I tried to focus on that (the title IS songwriter, hahaha..).

Three-part character study? Ish? Eh. It was fun. (also, I guess, chapter title explanation: crescendo = to gradually get stronger; decrescendo = to gradually get softer; soprano = a high-note range, and what I believe is the sound of Tifa's voice.)

Criticism is much appreciated!


End file.
